


just breathe

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Just know they're so fucking in love, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, No Season 8, POV Shiro (Voltron), Pining, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Season/Series 06, Scent Kink, Shiro has a lot of trauma to work through, Touch-Starved Shiro (Voltron), but it ends happy i promise, god so much pining, thats all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Shiro has never wanted to lean on anyone, never wanted to be a burden, but as he struggles to adjust to life after returning from the astral plane, he realizes just how much Keith means to him. The world needs Keith, but Shiro needs him more.





	just breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I went crazy trying to figure out how to tag this. It starts not long after Shiro is returned into the clone's body and then I sort of cherry picked things from canon because I have a memory like dory and struggle with canon timelines. All you need to know is S8 doesn't exist but the castleship still does. 
> 
> This was originally a twitter thread but it was expanded and very heavily edited so whether you've seen bits of this before or its brand new to you, I hope you enjoy. <3
> 
> I cannot thank whiskyandwildflowers enough for always cheering me on when i send her snippets and for the amazing beta help. Also for the summary for this fic because I was so weak after writing this my brain was mush. You're an actual angel.

It starts innocently enough.

After Shiro returns from the astral plane, he can’t sleep. It sounds like a harmless enough issue except that it begins to affect his every waking moment. The long sleepless nights begin to take a toll, ramping up his sense of unease and the inexplicable insecurity he sometimes feels making even the smallest of tasks seem exhausting.

Not that Shiro isn’t grateful for the second chance at life. He’d been so scared and so lonely and it’s a welcome relief to have the opportunity to even be overwhelmed. Having a corporeal body is more exhausting than he remembered, and the simplest of things leaves him out of sorts. Night after night he settles in bed hoping for sleep—for a reprieve from the sensations that assault him all day—but when his head hits the pillow all that comes is darkness. His bed is cold and sterile and the silence becomes more deafening than the daily noises of his friends. Worse still, darkness reminds him too much of his time spent in black’s consciousness. 

He’s tired. So tired. 

But it’s a small price to pay for being alive again, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

If the others notice, they say nothing. He suspects they’re too happy to have him back to realize he isn’t the same Shiro he was before. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them.

He suspects Keith has noticed from the way his eyes trail after Shiro when he leaves a room, or from the way his touches linger longer than before. Shiro is sorry for causing Keith so much worry but the truth is, Keith’s attentions are the only thing keeping him grounded. Sometimes, Shiro is afraid if he closes his eyes, he might just drift away.

After weeks of sleepless nights tossing and turning until the sun comes up, Shiro takes to leaving his room once he’s sure everyone else on the ship is asleep. He doesn’t want to bother anyone else with his troubles, but he can’t stand the sight of the ceiling in his room anymore. He wanders the halls, the starlight he’d once dreamed of peeking in through the windows and shadowing his movements. For the first time in his life, Shiro doesn’t see the beauty in the stars.

Every night he roams the castleship. He has no destination in mind and spends the nights mapping unused hallways, or memorizing star charts he finds in the library, in an aimless attempt to outrun the horrors and loneliness that engulf him when he closes his eyes. The few hours of sleep he does manage to catch are restless and unsatisfying, leaving him more tired than before he fell asleep. 

Each day when the morning light breaks on the horizon, Shiro has the distinct feeling that he’s chasing something he will never catch.

Things reach a breaking point a few weeks later when Keith corners Shiro and demands an answer. Shiro tries to brush it off. Between trying to save the galaxy and being the new Black Paladin, Shiro hadn’t wanted to burden Keith. Compared to being dead, things are good. If he can’t sleep or sometimes feels as if his skin is not his own, it’s not a big deal. Other people have it worse. When he says as much out loud though, it only makes Keith angrier.

Instead of pushing Shiro away, he pulls him close. As close as can be.

He pulls Shiro into an unexpected hug which Shiro is helpless to resist. Keith is so warm and strong, and though Shiro is still a head taller, he finds himself folding into Keith’s embrace. Keith makes a noise of surprise and tightens his hold. Shiro hopes he never lets go.

Shiro feels selfish. The world needs Keith, but Shiro needs him more. 

He shoves his nose into Keith’s neck and inhales sharply—his senses assaulted by the smell of Keith’s earthy body wash and something inherently _Keith_ that makes the residual tension in Shiro’s body melt away. Memories flood Shiro so rapidly it’s impossible to keep up, almost like awakening from the astral plane all over again. It’s all Shiro can do not to cry—Keith’s strength is the only thing keeping him upright.

The next day, it’s Shiro’s turn to pull Keith into an easy hug. He wraps his arms around Keith’s lithe frame and drags him against his chest, pressing his face into Keith’s hair and closing his eyes as he breathes in the aroma of Keith’s shampoo.

Neither of them pull out of the hug for a very long time.

After that, the hugs and touching increases in frequency until even the other paladins seem to expect that if Shiro and Keith are in the same room, they will be touching. Shiro doesn’t have it in him to question it. Not when it feels more right than anything in the universe.

It’s not until a few weeks later that Shiro realizes what kind of trouble he’s in. 

After a long day, he drops down into his bed, exhausted enough to contemplate trying to sleep, but when he rolls over and presses his face into his pillow, he discovers that it smells like Keith. His pillow smells like Keith because Keith spent all evening in Shiro’s room going over intel from the Coalition, the entire evening spent with his head propped up on Shiro’s pillow.

Which means that Shiro’s pillow now smells like Keith. Shiro’s glad he’s alone so there’s no one to witness the tremble in his hands as he grips the pillow and breathes in harder, nearly suffocating himself in an attempt to chase the scent.

Something about Keith’s scent lingering in his bed sets Shiro on edge in the best way possible. His heart races, his palms sweat, and for the first time since he got a second chance at life, Shiro isn’t afraid to close his eyes.

After two days, the smell begins to fade. Shiro doesn’t wash his sheets, pressing his face into the pillow and desperately seeking the aroma he associates with all things good; safety, warmth, _love_.

It’s not until a few weeks later, when he tells Keith he thinks there’s an infestation of Xuzzayua in his air ducts, that he has to admit just how bad of a problem he has. His excuses to try and get Keith into his room have been pretty feeble, but that one was the worst by far. Wanting to be around Keith constantly is one thing, needing to be able to smell him is, well,something else entirely. 

Despite the disbelieving look he sends Shiro’s way, and the playful ribbing he delivers, Keith does indeed follow Shiro to his room after dinner and completes a more-than-thorough examination of his ducts. He’s happy to tell Shiro that they’re free of any and all Xuzzayua. Shiro’s disappointment surges at the idea of Keith having no reason to stay now, but Keith doesn't leave. Instead, he plops down in the center of Shiro’s bed and begins to talk. It's nothing much, just a bad joke Lance had told him earlier and what he ate for lunch while Shiro was in a meeting, but as Keith talks, Shiro falls onto the mattress beside him. Their bodies press together from shoulder to hip and hip to knee. Keith’s body radiates heat and he smells like sweat and soap.

Shiro wants to touch him so badly it aches, but something holds him back. Keith, however, is free with his touches—casual and calm as he leans against Shiro, and shares his space. If Shiro didn’t know better, he’d almost swear they were _cuddling_. 

Keith starts to recount a story from his time in the abyss which he’s told Shiro at least twice already—something about Kosmo and glowing space worms. Shiro lets his mind wander as Keith’s voice lulls him into a state of peaceful calm. He swallows down the lump forming in his throat, barely able to repress a shudder as he stares at Keith’s hair fanned across his pillow. They’d sparred just before dinner, and Keith’s hair still looks a bit damp from sweat. It makes Keith’s scent even stronger. 

It’s a long time before Keith retreats to his own room. He’s barely out the door before Shiro collapses into his bed once more and shoves his face into the pillow. Keith’s scent lingers as strong as if he were still in Shiro’s bed. It shouldn’t affect him the way it does, but Shiro is helpless to resist inhaling once more. His hands shake as they clench in the sheets and his tears stain the pillow as he wonders if maybe he came back broken.

Keith’s words on the platform echo through Shiro’s brain as he tries and fails to sleep that night. Keith had said he loved him like a brother, and Shiro wants to respect that, but he can’t ignore the way he feels. Especially not when he’s trying to nearly suffocate himself with Keith’s scent to feel less alone. Not when Keith’s smell is the single most comforting and erotic thing he’s ever encountered.

The following week, Keith leaves on a Blade mission. It’s only for a week and Shiro is happy for him. He knows how much being a part of their organization means to Keith. But by the end of the week, Shiro is crawling out of his skin, figuratively and literally. 

He misses Keith. He misses the way his laughter—rich and warm—fills a room when he’s amused. He misses the solid warmth of his hugs when Keith wraps his arms around Shiro and holds on as if he might never let go. And his smell. He really misses the way Keith smells. It makes Shiro feels absolutely crazy and strange and then crazy some more. 

After Allura had transferred his consciousness, Shiro had endured extensive testing from her and Coran. They’d talked endlessly about the things he might feel— about touch responsiveness and light sensitivity. About how his ears might not be used the vibrations of sounds just yet and things might seem too loud. No one had talked about smells though.

They hadn’t mentioned the way his sense of smell felt turned up to a hundred. Or how he might have noticed that Keith’s smell was stronger than anyone else’s— _better_. He still remembers opening his eyes and being bracketed against Keith’s chest and how the first whiff of Keith’s smell had made him feel—safe.

Shiro had been sure it would pass. It didn’t. As Shiro became accustomed to having a body again, things didn’t settle down. Weeks became months and every touch still felt like too much and not enough. Every sound set his nerves on edge and had his heart rattling out of his chest. And every smell had him struggling to stay calm as his body was flooded with revulsion or need.

Everyone assumed he was fine and Shiro hadn’t wanted to challenge that assumption. Especially not when the changes made him feel _weird_.

He knows Keith figured out about the touch thing on his own because he touches Shiro more than ever—the clap of his hand on Shiro’s shoulder or a ruffle of his hair and the daily hugs. And god, does Shiro relish it. Keith’s touch makes him feel centered and grounded and overwhelmed in the best way possible. It’s easy to accept because it's not really so different to how they were before. They’d always touched each other, and maybe it's more now, but it doesn’t feel _that_ different. Not really.

The smell thing though, that’s something else entirely. He can’t even blame his scent sensitivity because if Shiro is honest with himself, he knows that it’s just Keith.

Shiro knows when Keith is in a room before he sees him. Keith always uses the same soap on his hair and body, something Shiro knows because sometimes he closes his eyes and smells Keith’s wrist when he occasionally reaches up to run gentle fingers through Shiro’s forelock. The guilt and shame he feels is worth the euphoria that floods his body. When Keith gives him a hug, Shiro chokes down a sob as he presses his nose into the soft locks and prays Keith lingers a few seconds longer today.

These are secrets Shiro keeps locked away along with the other things he can’t stand to talk about since he got back. Things that make him feel like he takes up the wrong amount of space in a room. Things that make him feel out of sorts and upside down.

Mostly though, things are fine. _Mostly._ Because Shiro is dealing with it. Sort of. He’s dealing with it in the same way he deals with everything like that, which is to say not at all.

Soon Keith returns and despite Shiro’s growing confusion about his own desires, his and Keith’s friendship is as comfortable and easy as ever. Being with Keith is easy, right—it’s perfect. So yeah, things are fine. 

Until they’re not fine.

Until Keith goes on another mission with the Blades just a few months later. This one is longer than before, and by the time it’s been nearly two weeks, Shiro finds himself in Keith’s shower with generous handfuls of Keith’s two-in-one body wash and shampoo as he washes himself in the most pathetic attempt ever to feel like Keith is home. He hadn’t actually set out to be a weirdo and shower in his best friend’s room. He’d been unable to sleep and found himself pacing the castleship once more. It was as if his feet had found their way to Keith’s room of their own accord, and Shiro had been helpless not to go inside. Once he’d crossed through the door, he’d shuffled into Keith’s bathroom and then opened the shower door, reaching for the soap and popping open the lid.

It had smelled so much like Keith his hands had shook as he’d inhaled deeply. Without giving himself time to think about what it might mean, he’d discarded his clothing and stepped into the shower, coating his own body in the closest thing to Keith he had. The smell is so familiar, but it’s not the same—it’s not enough.

He tells himself it's just going to be one this time. That's all. 

Except the next day Keith video calls on the datapad to tell Shiro the mission got delayed and he'll be a week longer. Shiro finds himself in Keith’s shower an hour later.

It might not be enough, but it's all he has.

Shiro does his best not to think about it too hard, something which is exceedingly difficult after a year of being able to do nothing but think. He tries not to think about Keith using the same soap on his own body. Tries not to think about Keith's hands coating him in soap. He tries not to think about Keith's long, delicate fingers sudsing up the wash into a lather before washing his hair and the way the bubbles might cling the hair at the back of his neck or the top of his earlobe.

He tries and he fails.

Because if Shiro knows one thing, it's himself. He's been alone with his own thoughts long enough to know what he wants. _Who_ he wants. 

Self-denial can only last so long, and this tactic stopped working Shiro right around the time he found himself naked in Keith’s shower.

Shiro had spent so long in Black’s consciousness watching Keith from a distance. So long watching him grow into himself, the confident man and leader Shiro had always known he was. Shiro had so much time to do nothing but think about himself, about Keith—about _them_. 

He knows now that he loves Keith. He loves him in a way that is anything but brotherly.

The problem is, Keith doesn't feel the same, and Shiro hates himself for wanting more. He knows Keith would give him anything—everything. He knows this with every fiber of his being. 

Keith is the single bravest and most selfless man Shiro has ever known, and he absolutely loathes himself for wanting something his best friend wouldn’t want to give him. Shiro doesn’t deserve him.

Shiro's hands shake as they skim along his body with more soap than he's ever used. The body wash smells earthy and musky. It reminds Shiro of pine trees back on Earth and Keith on his hoverbike with his arms spread wide.

With every glide of a hand across his body, the images behind his closed eyes become more visceral. The shower fills with steam and intensifies the smell.

He lathers the soap across his chest and up the side of his neck, closing his eyes and recalling his first moments in his new body. He remembers the feeling of being bracketed against Keith’s chest and enveloped in his protection—surrounded by Keith’s scent. 

Keith had smelled so good, had been so solid and real. He’d smelled like fresh air and freedom. The smell was spicy and warm and a little sweaty.

He smells that now. The musky smell is missing. Keith runs so hot, something Shiro now knows is due to his Galra blood, which explains why he's always a little sweaty and hot under the collar and perhaps why his smell is so damn strong. Even freshly out of the shower, Keith’s natural scent is impossibly strong.

Shiro lifts his soap-coated hand to his nose and inhales deeply; it’s masculine and clean and so Keith that Shiro's hands shake as they return to his body and skim over his many scars.

The next night it happens again. Things go farther.

Shiros hand slips lower—low enough to wrap around his half-hard cock as he shudders and braces his prosthetic against the shower. At first he just holds it—cock solid and heavy in his hand. He could stop this before it crossed a line.

He doesn’t stop.

He lets his head drop down, the water from the shower head clouding his vision as he looks down and watches his cock lengthen under his own ministrations. He strokes himself with Keith’s soap and imagines it’s Keith’s hand on him instead. 

His brain is screaming that there's no coming back from this as he strokes his cock and lets out a guttural moan that echoes off the shower walls. He’s so close. So close to coming in his best friend’s shower as he jerks off with his body wash. He should stop this now before he reaches a point where there’s no coming back. Except the truth is, Shiro has known there was no coming back from loving Keith a long time ago.

Keith is everything.

Keith is strength and safety. He's support and confidence and bravery. He's the laughter Shiro had almost forgotten and the home he thought he'd never see again.

And he's beautiful. So damn beautiful.

Shiro inhales sharply, head spinning as the shower fills with steam and he continues to touch himself. His strokes are too hard. Harder and rougher than Keith would touch him. It’s better that way. 

Shiro shudders, the shower filling with the scent of his own release and Keith's soap in a heady mix of cleanliness and sex. He struggles to breathe, shoving his face beneath the heavy stream of the shower head and choking on water as he tries to ignore the moisture pooling at the corners of his eyes.

By the time he's out of the shower and dressed, Shiro is tired. The kind of bone-deep tiredness that makes his soul ache. Tired in a way that makes his soul ache.

Shiro is tired of proving himself—more to himself than anyone else. He’s tired of being strong. Tired of a lifetime spent wanting more than he should.

He shuffles his feet towards the door—an ache in his gut that won't leave—when he catches a glimpse of Keith's bed.

Keith had left in a hurry, and the bed pays tribute to the rush he must have been in. It's still only half-made, blankets left thrown off to one side from the last time Keith had slept there. There's a single photo of him and Shiro on the bedside table and there's a book Shiro lent him with a scrap of paper as a bookmark on the end of the bed.

The room is sparsely decorated but somehow still screams Keith.

Keith's only been gone two weeks, but it feels like longer and as he stares at Keith's pillow with the pillowcase hanging half off, Shiro gets an idea in his head.

Bed. Keith's bed.

Keith's bed smells like Keith.

Shiro debates going back to his own room and his own bed for all of five seconds before he's changing directions and moving towards Keith's bed. Keith wouldn't mind, he thinks. He's not gonna do anything to the bed. He just wants to sleep. 

He's so damn tired.

With a small amount of unease but an equal amount of conviction, he climbs in.

The sheets are like freezing—cold as ice against his skin which is still flushed from the scalding hot shower—and the sensation is electric. Logically, he knows Keith's sheets are the same sheets Shiro has. The same sheets they all have. But not every set of sheets has had Keith in them.

Shiro tells himself it's not that weird to want to be surrounded by Keith’s smell as he huffs out a little breath of air and rubs his cheek against the pillow. _Keith’s pillow_. The knot of tension around his heart lessens as he inhales deeply—the scent as strong as if Keith had been there only moments before and so painfully familiar it leaves him aching.

It’s so strong and Shiro doesn’t bother trying to hold back the whimper. There’s no one there to hear the desperate, needy sound that tears from his throat. There’s no one there to see his tears stain the pillow.

There’s no one there. Shiro is alone, and no matter how much he might try to pretend otherwise in the privacy of his own mind, he’s stealing these moments without Keith’s permission and the sting is tangible. 

Shiro has destroyed a lot of things in his lifetime—his survival has always come with a heavy cost. He refuses to let Keith become a casualty in the wreckage Shiro leaves in his wake. 

Memories flash through his mind—hoverbike races and macaroni and cheese eating competitions. Sneaking out after curfew to steal cookies from the senior officers at the Garrison during the last weekend before Kerberos. Keith's hands on his face while strapped to a table. Keith's arm around him leading him to safety.

Keith laughing. Keith crying. Keith hoping. Keith fighting.

Keith. Keith. Keith.

The long months without Keith had done nothing but solidify what Shiro had long known; there’s a space for Keith carved so deeply in Shiro's heart not even death could fill it. The only difference now is that Shiro knows exactly what his feelings mean.

To Shiro’s surprise, that night the bad dreams don't come. Shiro slumbers with the closest thing to peace he's known in a very long time.

He awakens the next morning rested, but with the heavy weight of guilt resting on his heart. His sense of peace dissipates as rapidly as it had come, and no matter how hard he tries to hold onto the feeling of calm, it’s gone. It’s almost as if he were trying to hold on to the very stars around them.

He promises himself that he won't sleep in Keith’s bed again. Keith is due home in a few days anyway, and Shiro can certainly get his messy, unwanted feelings and weird needs under control by then.

Except that night when he crawls into his own bed after hours of training, hoping he’s made himself exhausted enough to pass out, sleep refuses to come. His freshly-washed sheets smell sterile in a way that makes his throat close off, and everything in his room feels as if it belongs to someone else, even his own body. He tosses and turns for hours until he caves near dawn, stumbling from his bed and dragging his overtired body towards Keith’s room. 

One more time can't hurt, he thinks. Just once more.

He knows the way to Keith’s room by heart, which is good since he can barely keep his eyes open. He jams his thumb into the lock pad, cracking an eye open as the door slides to the side for him. His footsteps on the floor are louder than the blood pounding in his ears but still Shiro doesn’t hesitate. The second Shiro settles into Keith's bed, he curls himself into a ball and tucks the sheet under his chin, trying to surround himself entirely in the only bit of Keith he can. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, breathing through his nose and feeling the anxiety that had clawed its way up his spine all day begin to abate.

Keith's scent is fainter tonight, but it's there. It’s there, and Keith isn’t, and Shiro doesn’t have time for guilt or shame when he feels so safe and at peace surrounded by Keith’s scent.

The next morning, he doesn't rush out of bed like the previous morning. Instead he lingers, letting the last vestiges of sleep leave him as he remains cocooned in Keith's bed.

He pushes away the guilt and draws his focus to the other ways he feels—calm, happy, safe.

And aroused.

He really shouldn’t be surprised.—he’d jerked off in Keith’s shower more than once to the smell of his shampoo, so he can’t be surprised at the arousal coursing through his body.

Unfortunately, once the surprise disappears, it’s replaced with guilt.

_Shit._

Shiro is absolutely not jerking off in his best friend’s bed. He already feels like a weirdo for using his shower and his soap and jerking off there. Doing it in Keith's bed is too close, too personal—feels like a violation of his trust. Shiro would rather die than do that.

He inhales a slow, deep breath and squares his shoulders before rolling out of bed, at which point he realizes the odds of getting back to his room unnoticed with a raging erection are slim to none. Allura and Hunk are both early risers and Shiro slept far too late—lulled into a false sense of safety hidden away in Keith’s bed. There’s not a chance in hell Shiro is getting caught sneaking out of Keith’s room like this.

He can’t do it in Keith’s bed. That’s out of the question. The shower though, well he's already done it there. Once more can't hurt.

Except it can.

It can hurt because with every touch, Shiro is reminded how starkly different his own touch is to Keith's. It can hurt because Shiro's spent his entire life wanting more than he should and even this is no different. It hurts because Keith is the one thing that makes him feel human.

It hurts because Shiro loves him.

But it only hurts Shiro. 

And Shiro, well he's used to hurting.

The next night, it's not even a question of _if_ but _when._

Shiro waits for night to come, for everyone else to sleep before he slips back to Keith's room. He promises himself tonight will be the last night. Keith's due back tomorrow afternoon anyway.

One last night will be enough. It will be enough because it has to be. 

Shiro knows that he needs to make peace with his feelings and shove them away so that he can be the best friend Keith wants and needs him to be. To be the best friend Keith deserves. But that’s a problem for future Shiro.

For just tonight, Shiro is going to pretend. 

He's going to pretend he's not too much. He’s going to pretend that what he wants and needs isn't wrong. He’s going to pretend Keith loves him the same way Shiro loves Keith.

He slides into the bed easily, flipping the pillow over to find a cool spot and resting his cheek on top. Keith's scent is almost gone now, washed away by Shiro's, but it lingers on the cotton lulling Shiro to sleep.

In his dreams he is safe.

In his dreams he isn't broken.

In his dreams he is loved.

Shiro rouses from sleep slowly, unsure why he's awake at all. It wasn’t a nightmare, and the room is still pitch dark so it’s not morning. Shiro suddenly becomes aware of movement in the room and panic wells up inside of him, bright and blinding—his hands in fists before he realizes who it is. Or _smells_ who it is anyway. Even from across the room, the musky scent is unmistakable, and the fear in his chest begins to trickle away.

_Keith._

Keith is home.

Relief floods him, at stark odds with the shame of being caught sleeping in Keith's bed.

It only takes a few seconds before Shiro’s eyes adjust to the darkness. Before he can get a good look at Keith, whose back is turned as he strips off his Blade suit. Shiro should turn away. Keith probably thinks he’s asleep. Except he can’t turn away, not when the sinuous lines of Keith’s back are being revealed to Shiro. He stumbles, kicking furiously as the suit tangles at his feet and a smile tugs at Shiro’s lips. He’s so fond of Keith.

So fond in fact, that he’s too busy thinking how adorable Keith is to realize that Keith is turning around. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers and a look of determination, and Shiro is struck stupid by how fucking in love with this man he is.

Shiro opens his mouth then snaps it shut. What the hell is he supposed to say? 

_Sorry for hiding in your bed to smell you. Sorry for using half your soap to jerk off. Sorry for loving you too much._

"Move," Keith says. It's barely a whisper but it might as well be as a scream to Shiro's sleep-addled brain.

"Shit, sorry. I'm sorry, I—" Shiro stutters out, trying to untangle himself from Keith's sheets which are wrapped around his leg. There is no escaping this with his dignity or pride intact.

Fuck. Shiro wants to cry. He's ruined the most important thing in his entire life.

"No, that's...god—" Keith huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His lips are turned down in a frown and his thick eyebrows are furrowed. Shiro would find it adorable if the idea of displeasing Keith didn’t make him want to throw himself face first into the path of an asteroid. "I didn't mean move out of the bed, Shiro. I meant make room for me. Scoot over."

Shiro struggles to make sense of Keith's words. He's dreaming. He's got to be dreaming.

Except then the bed is dipping and Keith's hands are on his arm. Shiro's brain might not understand the words, but he can understand Keith's solid presence beside him. Actions have always been easier for Shiro to understand than words anyway.

Whatever Keith might be feeling about discovering Shiro in his bed, he's clearly not angry.

Shiro scoots to the side to make room for Keith. Or as much room as he can. The beds aren't meant for two people, especially not when one of them is as big as Shiro.

He wants to open his mouth and ask Keith what he feels but he’s not brave enough. The weakest part of his brain stays silent. It's easier not to ask. It's easier not to question the kindness Keith is giving him. So he lays his head on the pillow and forces himself to act normal.

"You're thinking really hard," Keith says, punching the pillow beneath his head and laying on his side. He's watching Shiro intently.

"Sorry,” he replies automatically, not even sure what exactly he's apologizing for. The list is so long.

"What for?" Keith asks.

Shiro sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and worries it between his teeth. He's sorry for so much. For wanting too much. For wanting things that scare him. For not being brave. For sneaking in and sleeping in Keith's bed without permission.

And yet, the thing Shiro is most sorry for is how _not sorry_ he truly is. Because when it comes down it to it, Shiro can't muster up the strength to be truly sorry for loving Keith. Not even a little bit. Not when it's the one thing that makes him feel human.

"Stuff," Shiro answers evasively a moment later. His chest is so tight he’s surprised he hasn’t passed out from oxygen deprivation.

"Wow, so eloquent," Keith teases. His laughter makes a puff of air ghost across the pillow and into Shiro's ear and Shiro clenches his jaw, overwhelmed by the urge to roll over and wrap himself around Keith and never let go.

He can't look at Keith. He knows if he does he won't be able to stop.

Keith is like a solar eclipse, too big and blinding for Shiro to look at straight on. He's so beautiful. So strong. So perfect. 

Shiro is terrified to look at him, scared of saying something from which there will be no coming back.

Bile rises in the back of his throat and his hands shake.

He chokes it down, voice lighter than he feels as he smiles and whispers, "Fuck you."

This makes Keith laugh more, the bed shaking with the force of his amusement. His breath is warm and heavy against the side of Shiro's face as he continues to laugh. It's almost like being touched.

Almost.

"I missed you," Shiro confesses. It's not half of what he wants to say but it's true, even if it's not all of the truth.

"Of course you did, I'm amazing," Keith deadpans. Shiro loves that Keith is confident enough to say that now, even if it's supposed to be in jest. There’d been a time when Keith was unsure of his place in Shiro’s life, unsure of Shiro. It means everything to Shiro to know that Keith doesn’t question that anymore.

"You are, Keith. You really are." 

Keeping his eyes on the ceiling is damn near impossible, but he manages., Just barely. The mattress shifts and he can feel Keith moving beside him. He knows Keith is trying to make eye contact—knows Keith is looking for something. Keith's smart like that.

Keith scoots closer until he’s practically on top of Shiro. It takes every bit of Shiro's self-control not to move as Keith leans in. He squeezes his eyes shut as Keith looms over him, so distracted by the smell of Keith's hair it takes him a minute to realize Keith is smelling _him_.

"Did you use my soap?" Keith asks bluntly.

Time comes to a screeching standstill. If Shiro wasn’t already lying flat on his back, he’s positive he would’ve ended up on the floor.

He quickly runs over his options. The door is close enough for an escape. Except it's blocked by Keith who is stronger and more dangerous than he might seem. Not that he would ever hurt Shiro— which is exactly the problem. Shiro knows Keith would do anything to keep from hurting Shiro even if it wasn’t what he wanted.

He could blame Lance. He's not really sure how or why except that Lance is usually at fault when something goes wrong and he could easily fudge the details. It would be so easy to lie. But Shiro has never lied to Keith. Not ever. Withheld extra information, sure. Like the fact that he's been in love with him for longer than he can even remember. But Keith's never asked, _"Are you in love with me, Shiro?"_ , so it isn't technically a lie to keep it to himself. Not really.

He could say no now, and even if Keith was absolutely sure it was a lie, he would believe Shiro. Because he trusts Shiro. Keith trusts Shiro.

Which is exactly why lying is the first thing off his list.

"Yes," he answers when the silence stretches on too long. He might not lie, but that doesn't mean he has to tell Keith _everything._

He doesn't need to tell him about hiding his face in Keith's jacket and smelling it that first day when he’d climbed out of the shower still reeking of Keith’s body wash and the scent of his own shame.

He doesn't need to tell him about all the soap he used that week (even if Keith is bound to notice next time he showers). Or what he used it for. Fuck, he definitely doesn't need to tell him that.

He doesn't need to tell him how safe he feels surrounded by Keith's scent. How Keith smells like home. How Keith’s scent makes Shiro _want_.

Shiro doesn’t need to tell Keith that he hadn’t been afraid to die, but sometimes he’s afraid to live.

"Huh, okay," Keith replies, as if it's not a big deal. As if Shiro didn’t just bare his soul with a single word. 

Keith rolls onto his back and folds his long arms beneath his head, and Shiro is hyper-aware of every inch of their bodies pressed together in the too-small bed that he can barely breathe.

Long seconds pass and for one naive moment, Shiro thinks that's it. That'll be all, and Keith will pretend it never happened. Both of them have always been good at pretending things that are too hard to deal with never happened. Except it isn't. 

God it isn't.

"Why?" Keith whispers, rolling onto his side and scooting so close that his knuckles lay against the curve of Shiro’s shoulder.

Of course Keith would want to know why. Of fucking course he would.

Shiro opens his mouth, but the sound that comes out is nothing intelligible, not even to someone as well-versed in alien dialects as Keith. It's a broken, choked sob that makes him wish he was small enough to hide. It’s strange to be big enough that people always see him, while also feeling like no one is really looking at him.

Except Keith. 

Keith looks, and Keith sees, and Shiro is terrified of what he might be seeing now.

"Oh," Keith breathes. "I thought—for a long time I thought maybe— but then I wasn't sure and then you—" he stops, his words dying off. 

Shiro can't open his eyes. Can't look at Keith's face and see if he's disappointed him. Despite Shiro’s every attempt to hide his feelings, somehow Keith has figured it out and Shiro can’t stand to see the fallout. 

“Shiro.”

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Then there are fingers on his jaw, turning his face. He flashes back to the last time they'd been in this position. He'd been strapped to a table and terrified. 

He's even more scared now than he was then. Keith's fingers are just as gentle now as they'd been before, and Shiro acquiesces to the silent request. He turns his face and opens his eyes.

“Hi,” Shiro whispers. Maybe if he pretends everything is the same, it will be. 

Keith’s lips quirk up in the corner, and the dread in the pit of Shiro’s stomach lessens. He doesn’t look horrified or upset. 

He looks _happy._

“Hey,” he echoes.

Shiro waits for the delicate fingers on his face to leave but they don’t. Instead, they slide up his jaw until Keith’s hands are cupping his cheek. He’s seen those hands rage and fight and destroy. It doesn’t escape Shiro’s notice that Keith touches him as if he’s something special.

He touches Shiro as if he’s something beautiful. Keith’s eyes are on Shiro, intense and focused. Keith looks, and Keith sees, and Shiro is helpless to look away even if he should.

“God how long, Shiro?” His shock is visible.

“What?” Shiro chokes out. His ears are ringing, and he’s a little dizzy, and it’s hard to think with Keith so close. Keith is warm, and he smells so good, and it’s so damn hard to think.

“How long have you loved me?” Keith asks, stroking his thumb across the arch of Shiro’s cheekbone.

It’s so like Keith to say it like that. Not a question but a fact. He’s always so sure of things—his conviction resolute. Shiro loves him even more for it. 

He might be able to lie to himself, but he can’t lie to Keith.

"A long time. I'm sorry. God, I’m so sorry,” Shiro whispers as his voice cracks and he tries not to cry. He should look away from Keith, but he can’t. “I know you don't feel the same. And—"

"Shiro, I _love_ you,” Keith interrupts.

Shiro shudders, unable to resist the selfish and pathetic urge to press his cheek into Keith's palm. Keith is so kind, even when Shiro is a mess. Even when he's ruining things.

"I know you do. Like a brother. I tried not to—"

Keith makes a choking sound. "I...you—Shiro. Shiro, are you serious?"

Shiro closes his eyes again so he won't cry. He can't handle the idea of not being what Keith needs him to be—of not loving him the way Keith wants him to.

"I'm sorry, Keith. I'm so sorry.” 

"If you say sorry one more time I'm going to kick your ass," Keith breathes.

"I'm—"

"Shiro, _I love you._ I love you in every way it's possible for a person to love someone else."

Shiro holds his breath. Keith's words don’t sound like a gentle let down. The opposite. "You—"

"Love you," Keith finishes. "I love you as my family, yeah. And I love you as my best friend. Brother was...the only way I knew how to tell you how important you were in the worst moment of my life, but it's not close to being enough. It’s not—fuck, Shiro. I didn’t know you—Fuck! The way I feel about you is so far from familial."

"Oh," Shiro exhales, and his entire world narrows down to Keith. Shiro barely knows how to make sense of Keith's words. He'd been so sure of what Keith wanted, he'd never once let himself truly imagine a universe in which his feelings might be returned.

"You could, uh...say something this time. Say it back." Keith removes his hands from Shiro’s face and lifts one hand to rub the back of his neck. "If you want."

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek, the furrow between his eyebrows growing the same way it does when he's worried. He looks so beautiful with the faint blue light from the clock reflecting off his eyes.

Beautiful and worried. Shit.

"You can say you don't feel the same. Or, maybe...you know it’s ok if you don’t want it. You know it won't change anything between us and it's...it would be okay. I don't love you because I expect anything back. Or you can say you don't wanna talk about it, and that's ok too, or even say shut up just...say something. Fuck. _Please_."

It's the _please_ that does it. Keith never begs. Not with anyone. Not even Shiro.

Shiro’s throat tightens as the words come out choked. "How could you think a world exists in which I don't love you?"

There's another choked sob, only this one comes from Keith. Not even the aching loneliness of death compares to the pain of seeing Keith hurting.

His beautiful, brave Keith who puts his heart on the line for Shiro over and over is unsure about how Shiro feels about him? He'd been so sure his feelings were unrequited that he'd missed every single sign that should have told him otherwise.

"I mean, you didn't say," Keith said, quieter than usual. "You didn’t say it back. You never said anything. For a long time I thought maybe it was just me. Then for awhile I thought maybe...maybe you felt the same but you never said. I wasn't sure if you needed time or it wasn't what you wanted."

 _It_. If it wasn’t what Shiro wanted.

Keith means him.

Keith means _he wasn't sure if he was what Shiro wanted_ and every single bit of hesitancy in Shiro flies out the window as he sits up fast enough to knock Keith backward. Shiro’s arms fly out and pulls Keith's against his chest. He wraps his arms around Keith never wants to let go.

"I love you," he mumbles into Keith's hair. 

Keith's arms wind around Shiro and squeeze him tight enough it's hard to breathe. It’s perfect. Keith is in his arms, and Shiro never wants to let go. His eyes drift shut as he shoves his nose into Keith's hair and inhales deeply. He smells like the generic soap he knows the Blades stock because it's cheap and efficient, but beneath that he smells like smoke and something earthy. 

It’s something rich and comforting and erotic and uniquely Keith. It's the same thing Shiro smelled after regaining consciousness at the Garrison, and again after the astral plane.

In every world, in every universe, Keith has been his north star guiding him home.

"I love you," Shiro says again, words nearly unintelligible since he refuses to dislodge his face from Keith’s hair. He isn’t sure which one of them is shaking, but he tightens his hold on Keith just the same. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers against his neck. His voice is small, and for the first time in a long time, almost unsure. Shiro doesn’t want him to ever be unsure of anything ever, especially not of him.

"I love you, Keith. I love you. So much." Now that he's said it he can't seem to stop. Keith doesn't seem to mind, fingers digging into Shiro's back so deeply it borders on painful. Shiro doesn’t mind.

He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, clutching each other in the middle of the bed. When Keith eventually pulls out of the hug, he scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hands. Shiro doesn't mention the tears on Keith's face, and Keith doesn't mention Shiro's.

"You just...you seriously didn't know?" Keith asks, sitting back on his heels. He's got a hand fisted in Shiro's shirt.

Shiro's face heats and he shakes his head. "How was I supposed to know?"

"You just...oh my god," Keith groans, looking like he's not sure if he should laugh or cry again. "I said I loved you! How could you not know?”

"Like a brother," Shiro protests. “You said like a brother.”

Keith opens his mouth, presumably to argue then snaps it shut. He takes several slow breaths before he speaks again, and there's a vulnerability in his voice Shiro hasn't heard in years.

"I thought you knew."

"No," Shiro breathes. "I didn't."

"So you just...you thought I—"

"Loved me platonically," Shiro finishes. In hindsight, it feels almost ridiculous. There are so many things Keith has said or done that should have shown him otherwise, but Shiro had never been able to rid that single sentence from his brain.

"Oh my god," Keith yells, covering his face with his other hand. "I thought it was so fucking obvious."

"Not to me," Shiro tells him quietly. He lays a hand on Keith's thigh, earning him a shy glance from between Keith’s fingers.

"How long?" Keith asks again.

Shiro shrugs. "I dunno, a long time. Since before I died probably. I didn’t really understand it until after though."

A pained expression crosses Keith's face. "You died."

"You saved me," Shiro whispers, wanting to bring Keith back from whatever dark place his mind has gone. "You always save me. As many times as it takes, remember?"

The words don't have the desired effect. Keith's lips thin as his fingers tighten in Shiro's shirt. "I remember."

Shiro's heart aches, a visceral pain as the blood thrums through his veins. He doesn't want Keith thinking about all the times he lost someone—about all the times he lost Shiro. So he does the first thing that comes to mind, desperate to take Keith's mind somewhere else. He throws himself under the proverbial bus.

"I used all your soap," he blurts out.

The look on Keith's face changes immediately, from something made of sorrow to confusion.

"What?" Keith questions.

It occurs to Shiro then that he did not think this through. Love confessions were supposed to end in kissing or cuddling or, well...anything besides mortifying embarrassment. 

"Your soap," he repeats. "I uh, used it all. Well almost all of it anyway."

Keith's nose wrinkles up as he stares. God he’s so cute. "Yeah, you said that."

"Ok good. So we got that covered. I'll buy you some more next time we go to the space mall."

"You'll buy me some more," Keith repeats as if Shiro is speaking an alien dialect.

"Yes. Two. I'll buy you two bottles," he says, though the thought is rather selfish since he's damn near desperate to smell it clinging to Keith's skin again. 

"Does this have something to do with why you were sleeping in here?" Keith asks, too perceptively.

Shiro knows a lot of people don't understand Keith, but that doesn't mean Keith doesn't understand them. He's always been too smart for his own good, too observant. Especially when Shiro is involved.

The panic he feels must be showing on his face, because Keith rests his palm flat on Shiro’s chest, a soft smile crossing his face. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

Shiro offers Keith a tight smile as he tries to calm the erratic beating of his heart. Keith's hand is so warm—a solid weight against his chest. He wonders if Keith can tell how hard his heart is beating, can tell how much Shiro wants to kiss him. He wonders if Keith can tell the way he makes Shiro's pulse race and his heart soar.

The idea of saying it out loud is still terrifying, but the fear is tampered by Keith's presence. If being a clone, dying, and being mind-controlled couldn't make Keith stop loving him, he's pretty sure this weird smell thing couldn't either.

At least he hopes so.

"You're incredible, Keith, you know that?"

Keith's ears turn pink and he ducks his head. "You're changing the subject. You know I won't make you say anything. But...if you wanted to, you could. You can tell me anything."

"I missed you," Shiro starts with. It's not the full story, but it's some of it.

Keith seems pleased by the confession, a brightness in his eyes as he inches closer on his knees. "I missed you too."

There’s a tremble in Shiro’s voice when he speaks again. "I missed you a lot. So much." 

Keith looks almost shy as he smiles at Shiro, and something in him shatters. 

It's not that Shiro can't live without Keith. It's that he doesn't want to. It's that he's lived what feels like too many lifetimes already. He's lived them with and without Keith, and the world is different without him—lonely and empty. Wrong.

Keith is like the sun—his warmth unending and brilliant. And Shiro, well, Shiro would do anything to stay in his orbit.

"I missed you so much, Keith," he repeats, his voice cracking as he reaches out to entwine their fingers.

"You said that," Keith whispers. His thumb rubs circles on the top of Shiro's hand, and it's all he can do not to shudder at the simple touch.

He wants Keith. He wants him so much he feels like he might burn up from the inside out. For the first time, it doesn't terrify him. Keith's thumb keeps stroking, and it reminds Shiro that he’s not alone. Keith is here. Keith loves him. Keith loves him the same way Shiro loves Keith and it's okay.

Mustering his courage, Shiro takes a deep breath, then speaks.

"I like the way you smell." Shiro closes his eyes after he makes the confession. 

He knows Keith would never make fun of him or stop caring about him just because Shiro's got some sort of weird scent kink thing going on. But all the same, he can't watch the fallout.  
Keith isn't good at hiding his thoughts, and if he thinks it’s weird Shiro, can't bear to see that.

"Shiro."

Keith's voice is like a siren song that Shiro is helpless to ignore. His eyes flutter open and what he sees rocks him to the core.

Oh. _Oh._

"You like how I smell?" Keith repeats. The pleasure in his voice in palpable. He looks almost bashful, and undeniably pleased, as if Shiro said something he can hardly believe. It reminds Shiro of the day Keith had beat his sim scores, and Keith's happiness had been at war with his own self-doubt and disbelief.

It makes Shiro feel brave.

Everything about Keith is perfect. Keith deserves to feel loved always. To know that every single part of him is beautiful and worthy of being adored and worshipped.

Maybe, Shiro thinks, it's not so weird. At least Keith doesn't seem to think so.

"You smell so good. All the time," Shiro confesses as he snakes his hand out to thread it into Keith's hair. It's soft as silk, and Shiro feels the tremor in Keith's body reverberate through his own. Apparently he's not the only one aching to be touched.

Shiro continues, trying to get it all out before he loses his nerve. "After I came back, everything was too much—sights, sounds, smells. All of it. It was all so overwhelming. And then you touched me, and I remember you hugging me and you smelled....you smelled so good."

He doesn't look at Keith, not because he's ashamed, but because if he does, he's afraid he won't get it all out. "I tried to ignore it because I thought you didn't want me, and it's weird, right? It's weird to be obsessed with the way your best friend smells."

"Nothing about you is weird," Keith interrupts.

"I'm pretty sure you're biased, Keith. I could have horns or a tail and you'd tell me it was cool."

Keith makes a noise, squeezing his hand. "It would be cool on you. Bet you'd look hot with a tail."

Shiro splutters then laughs. Keith has always been good at that, always been able to get Shiro out of his head and make him smile and laugh, even when he thought it was impossible. Keith is good at everything.

"Are you telling me you have a tail kink?" Shiro teases.

Just like that, Keith's cheeks turn pink as he shoves at Shiro, knocking him backwards. Shiro lets out an _ooph_ of surprise, grabbing onto Keith's shirt and pulling him down with him as they fall back onto the pillows.

"Hi," Shiro says with a smile, pleased at the turn of events.

"Hi yourself," Keith grins.

Shiro worries his bottom lip between his teeth, aching to close the gap between them. Keith seems to sense his intentions and does it for him, bending in half to rest his forehead against Shiro’s. Their lips are so close they’re almost kissing. So close. Keith closed the distance but the rest is up to Shiro.

Keith's been brave. So brave. He's laid his heart on the line time after time, and this time it's Shiro's turn to do the same.

Though it's less than an inch of space between them, Shiro feels as if he’s crossing galaxies to get to Keith. Keith, whose breath ghosts across Shiro’s lips moments before Shiro kisses him. Then their lips are touching, and Shiro’s entire world turns from black-and-white to color. The sound that comes out of his mouth is something desperate and primal, something he couldn't stop if he wanted to. Keith's lips are chapped but so warm, and Shiro is positive it's his clumsiest kiss ever, because all he's really doing is pressing their lips together like it’s his first kiss at a sixth grade dance. Keith deserves a better first kiss, but it's so much—too much and not enough, and Shiro's on overload. 

Keith's body is so close to his, literally on top of him, and their lips are touching, and he can actually taste him. He can fucking taste Keith and he wants to cry.

Keith. Everything is Keith.

It's been Keith for so long.

It will always be Keith.

When the kiss breaks, Keith's eyes stay closed for a few extra seconds, and Shiro marvels at being the person to see Keith like this—open and vulnerable and unafraid. His smile is radiant when he finally opens his eyes and directs his gaze to Shiro. It makes Shiro's heart soar.

Shiro isn't sure if he's everything Keith thinks he is, but he wants to be.

When Keith looks at him he feels stronger, braver—more himself somehow. He feels more like the Shiro he used to be, and less like a second-rate replacement.

"So, uh...that kiss." Keith blushes as he goes silent. Shiro likes the pink high on his cheekbones and the flush down his pale neck. It’s a good look on him. Then again, Shiro thinks Keith looks good covered in space goo or mud and especially in barely anything at all, so he’s possibly more than a little biased.

"I'm a little out of practice," Shiro apologizes. His cheeks heat and he knows he’s likely sporting a blush to match Keith’s, though likely not half as attractive. "You might need to help me practice. It’s been a long time since I kissed anyone and you’re, uh, sort of my first kiss. At least in my new body."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Keith laughs, brushing the forelock off Shiro's face. "But I'm also one hundred percent committed to practicing. A lot. You know, to help you out. And for what it’s worth you’re, uh, you’re my first kiss too."

"Your dedication and selflessness knows no bounds," Shiro says seriously. He can’t even begin to talk about the way his heart leaps out of his throat at Keith’s confession. He’d known on some level that Keith didn’t have a lot of experience, but Shiro had missed so much. He hadn’t known. The idea of being Keith’s first anything is a lot to handle. He also knows Keith well enough to know Keith wouldn’t want Shiro to make a big deal out of it, even if it feels like a big deal to Shiro. Then again, Keith could have kissed a hundred people and it still would’ve been a big deal to Shiro because he loves him. Shiro loves him more than he’s ever loved anyone in his entire life.

Apparently Shiro has said the right thing, because Keith's lips crack into a half smile. "Yeah well, patience yields focus."

"Where did you hear that? Sounds like someone smart."

"An old-timer told me," Keith says. Shiro is impressed he manages to keep a straight face.

Shiro huffs out another laugh. "Smart ass."

Keith body shakes with suppressed laughter. His happiness is the most beautiful thing Shiro's ever seen.

"So, uh about the soap?" Keith unexpectedly queries. 

Shiro groans. "I was hoping maybe you'd forget I said that."

"Nope, not a chance," Keith tells him, dropping down onto his side and resting his head on the pillow beside Shiro. 

Shiro licks his lips before letting out a sigh. Apparently he’s not getting out of this one without laying it all on the line. "I wanted to smell like you."

"That's kinda sweet," Keith says. His fingers are slipping beneath the hem of Shiro’s t-shirt to stroke at the flat of his stomach. "And hot."

"Hot?" Shiro whispers, face heating. That was the last reaction he'd expected.

"Uh, yes. Definitely. Shiro, come on. The man I've been in love with for years wanted to smell like me. Hot. So hot." Keith says it as if there can be no question.

"I wasn't sure...I didn't mean to keep doing it. Just...it just happened. Then it kept happening."

"So is why you were sleeping in my bed? Because of the smell thing?" 

"Depends,” Shiro replies. “If I say yes, is that hot too?"

It definitely seems more pathetic than hot to Shiro, but he sure as hell isn't about to argue. 

Keith snorts. "Shiro, everything about you is hot. So hot. So fucking hot. I mean come on, have you looked in a mirror recently?"

Shiro is absolutely certain that what he sees every time he looks at his reflection and what Keith sees when he looks at him are entirely different, but he doesn’t want to say that. Shiro isn’t sure how he’d gotten lucky enough for Keith to look at him as if he hung the moon and stars, but he sure as hell isn’t going to question it. He’s going to treasure it—protect it with every fiber of his being. Besides, the idea of Keith liking what he sees when he looks at Shiro makes him hot all over in the best way possible.

"Then yes, that’s why,” Shiro says more confidently this time. “It wasn't the same as smelling you though. It was you but...but not. It was hollow."

Keith inches nearer, slipping one of his legs between Shiro's and urging Shiro to roll onto his side until their legs are tangled and Keith’s arm is thrown over Shiro’s side. This close, Shiro can practically feel Keith’s steady heart beating against his own chest, can see the way his dark lashes fan across his elegant cheekbones when he blinks, and he can definitely smell him. Even fresh off a long mission, Keith smells amazing. 

“Well, I'm here now,” Keith tells him. His fingers slip beneath Shiro’s t-shirt again, and he’s stroking at the hollow of Shiro’s back. It sends shivers down his spine.

"So what, I can just smell you?" Shiro laughs as he says it, because even to his own ears it sounds weird. It makes him sound like a puppy. 

"Yeah," Keith says as if its not really fucking weird.

He puts his hands on Shiro's arm and yanks him as close as possible until Shiro’s face is smashed against Keith's neck, and his arms are around Keith's waist, and he breathes. He breathes slow and deep, chills wracking his body as he inhales Keith's scent. The scent he'd been chasing for weeks.

"I'm here. I'm always going to be here," Keith says quietly, his hands stroking through Shiro's hair. “Although, I probably smell like smoke and latex. I haven’t showered in a few days, sorry.

“No,” Shiro murmurs against Keith’s throat. “You smell amazing.”

Keith snorts. “I should probably shower.”

Disappointment wells up in Shiro. He’s so warm and comfortable, and Keith smells so good. He’d hoped they might stay in bed the rest of the night and cuddle. Maybe even practice kissing some more if Shiro was really lucky. 

“Sure,” Shiro says, hoping his voice doesn’t betray his feelings as he dislodges himself from the warmth and safety of Keith’s arms. He swallows down the lump forming in his throat and presses his back to the wall, offering Keith a tight smile. It’s just a shower, no reason for Shiro to be so pathetic.

“I didn’t mean alone.” Keith’s smile is anything but soft as he slips from the bed and begins to walk backward towards the shower. 

“Oh. Oh!” Shiro says, unable to hide his surprise. “You mean I can come with you?”

“You can come with me anywhere, Shiro.”

Shiro nearly falls on his off the bed in his haste to follow Keith. His feet tangle in the sheets, and it’s only Keith’s fast reflexes and unassuming strength that save him from crashing headfirst onto the floor. God, Keith is so strong it makes Shiro ache.

“Easy there big guy,” Keith teases, squeezing Shiro’s bicep as Shiro rights himself. 

It’s only a few feet from Keith’s bed to the adjoining bathroom, but it feels like light-years away when what starts as a small peck on the lips turns into Shiro being unable to remove his mouth from Keith’s. The hesitance from their first kiss is easily replaced by something more intimate and comfortable. Keith stands on tiptoes and wraps his arms around Shiro’s, his mouth moving against Shiro’s as they awkwardly stumble across the room.

It’s a miracle they make it into the bathroom at all, but make it they do. Keith manages to shimmy out of his boxers without breaking the kiss, but Shiro isn’t so lucky. He’s forced to break the kiss in order to remove his shirt. Then he decides he's very lucky because while pulling out of the kiss had seemed like the worst idea ever, now that he’s got an eyeful of naked Keith, it seems like the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Keith is so fucking beautiful. He’s all sinuous lines and lithe grace, his muscles taut and tight. He’s not bulky the way Shiro is. Keith is a singularity and with all the force of a black hole, Shiro is drawn inward.

Keith might not technically be the center of the universe, but he’s the center of Shiro’s.

Abandoning his own mission of undressing, Shiro drops his shirt to the floor. With shaking hands he reaches out to skirt his fingertips down Keith’s sides. 

Keith’s stomach muscles tremble with the touch, and Shiro lets his fingertips ghost across the flat planes of Keith’s abdomen and over the single long scar just above his left hip. There aren’t enough words in any language Shiro knows to express the adoration he feels for the man before him, and he’s helpless to stop himself as he corrals Keith back against the wall and cradles his face in his hands.

“I love you,” he whispers, unsure if he will ever tire of being able to say it. “I love you.”

Keith opens his mouth, but Shiro’s mouth is on his before Keith can get a word out, the kiss lacking any finesse or gentleness—it is raw and broken like Shiro.

Keith makes a primal sound, something torn from the depths of his soul as he claws at Shiro. The sound he makes is wild, but the way he touches Shiro is so careful—his hands caressing the scarred skin at Shiro’s back as if he’s something precious. 

Everything fades into the periphery as Keith continues to kiss him. Eventually Keith breaks the kiss, and Shiro is too lightheaded and blissed out to focus on much of anything besides the way Keith’s lips look, pretty and kiss-swollen, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he catches Shiro staring and smiles. Shiro is so focused on trying to touch Keith, that he is only dimly aware of Keith somehow managing to help him kick off his pajama bottoms without falling on his ass and turning on the water. Gently, he pushes Shiro into the corner of the shower—which is too small for two grown men—taking the full brunt of the ice cold water that shoots down, and ensuring it’s perfectly warmed up before he pulls Shiro back against his chest and beneath the spray of water once more.

“God you’re beautiful.”

Keith blinks, pushing the wet fringe off his forehead. “You are.”

“We gonna play this game every time,” Shiro laughs. His hands are sliding down the curve of Keith’s back, down the curve at the base of his spine and over the swell of his ass. Shiro wants to memorize every inch of him.

“Mmm, maybe. If we do, I’ll win,” Keith tells him confidently.

Shiro barks out a laugh. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I’m more stubborn than you.” Keith grins, rising onto his tiptoes and pressing his chest against Shiro’s. Shiro thinks he’s going in for a kiss, but at the last second Keith reaches around to grab the bottle of body wash off the small shelf behind Shiro. Keith drops back down onto the balls of his feet, looking pleased with himself as he pops open the lid.

“Need a hand?” Shiro croaks.

Keith’s grin is equal parts wicked and hopeful as he nods, turning the bottle upside down and squeezing a generous amount of soap into Shiro’s hand.

“Where do you want me to wash first?” Shiro asks, lathering soap between his fingers.

Keith hesitates for only a second before his fingers are wrapping around Shiro’s wrist and guiding his hand onto Keith’s body. Shiro’s fingers splay out across Keith’s chest just above his heart, the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothing Shiro’s own rapidly racing heart. 

Shiro’s life up until now has often felt like a series of events he cannot forget no matter how hard he tries. This moment with Keith feels like something he’s going to spend his whole life trying hard not to forget.

The water drips off Keith’s hair and runs down his chest, cascading down his thighs and pooling between his toes. Every inch of him is on display. Every inch of him is perfect.

“Touch me,” Keith breathes.

“I am,” Shiro answers, staring at his hand on Keith’s chest.

Keith shakes his head, fingers tightening around Shiro’s wrist as he guides his hand lower. “ _Touch me._ ”

_Oh._

There’s a tremble as his hand drifts lower, and Shiro doesn't have a clue if it’s coming from him or Keith, maybe both of them. All he knows is that the broken sound he hears comes from his own throat as he wraps his fingers around Keith’s cock and begins to stroke. It’s been so long since Shiro was intimate with another man, he’d forgotten how much he liked to make someone else feel good. Not just someone now though. Keith.

He wants to make Keith feel so good.

It’s easy to tell what Keith likes. Shiro’s had years of experience learning how to read Keith’s facial expressions and silences. He knows exactly what Keith looks like when he’s happy, and when he’s holding back. He’s holding back now.

Shiro doesn’t want him to hold back.

“Baby, let go,” Shiro whispers into his ear, and then it’s Keith’s turn to make a broken sound that echoes off the walls of the shower.—— aa sound so painfully exposed Shiro knows he’ll dream of it for weeks.

“Shiro.”

It’s only his name, but for Shiro it’s everything. Keith says his name,, and Shiro is seen. Keith says his name,, and he is wanted. Keith says his name,, and he is loved.

After that,, it's impossible for Shiro to tell who the noises come from, both of them needy and desperate. Especially once Keith scrambles for the body wash and coats his own hand in it, wrapping his own fingers around SShiro’s cock. It’s a revelation,, really. Shiro had been so focused on the weight of Keith’s cock as he pulled him off, he’d forgotten about himself, but Keith hadn’t. Keith’s strokes are clumsy and jerky, but it’s Keith’s hand on his dick, so it’s pretty much the best thing Shiro’s ever felt in his entire goddamn life.

Shiro’s head spins—entire body on sensory overload. The sounds Keith makes when he’s being touched, the way he arches and writhes under Shiro’s ministrations, and the scent of their arousal mingling with Keith’s shampoo, is enough to drive Shiro insane.

Keith’s strokes become more erratic, and Shiro can tell he’s close from the way his toes curl against the tile flooring and the way his other hand digs into Shiro’s hip hard enough to bruise. 

“Baby,” Shiro murmurs against Keith’s lips, the name falling from his mouth once more. The term of endearment feels as natural as breathing, and for one blinding second of panic Shiro worries it's too much too soon. 

Shiro’s worries are laid to rest immediately as Keith surges against him. He bites down on Shiro’s bottom lip as he shudders against him and ruts into Shiro’s hand. The noises he makes are needy and guttural as he sucks on Shiro’s bottom lip, apparently as fond of the term of endearment as Shiro is.

“God, baby,” Shiro gasps out again and Keith is undone, his release seeming to surprise him as much as Shiro.

Keith’s eyes screw up in pleasure, his lips falling open and his hips stilling. Shiro lets Keith’s dick rest in his hand, not even stroking but holding him through his release. His free hand wraps around Keith, knuckles dancing up the curve of his spine in what he hopes is a soothing manner. 

There’s so much Shiro wants to say, but he’s never been good at words. Not like this. Not when it involves feelings, and, fuck, Shiro has so many feelings he thinks he might implode from them all. 

Thankfully he’s saved from making a mess of his words by Keith, who seems to have come back to himself and begins to press open-mouth kisses across Shiro’s sternum as his fingers curl around Shiro’s dick once more to stroke. Keith’s lips are soft, breath warm, as his mouth travels across Shiro’s shoulder. He pauses periodically to lavish attention, dipping his tongue into the hollow of Shiro’s collarbone and again at the gnarled scar at the edge of his shoulder. Throughout it all, Keith’s strokes never waver, firm and unyielding. It’s not very coordinated, his grip a little too tight and the stokes short, but every touch is dripping with so much sincerity and love it makes Shiro weak in the knees. The feeling of Keith’s capable hands on his body, the sound of his dick slipping through Keith’s soap-coated fingers, is the hottest thing Shiro’s ever experienced.

It only takes a few more strokes before Shiro is squeezing his eyes shut and gasping as he comes, body wracked with pleasure. Again, he’s overcome with the desire to tell Keith what he means to him, but he’s terrified of mincing his words. None of them are good enough for Keith anyway. Nothing could ever come close to encapsulating the way Shiro loves him. So he doesn’t speak. Instead, he closes his eyes and rests his chin atop Keith’s head, breathing in the heady scent of sex and soap and cradling Keith to his body.

It’s not until the water begins to run cold as ice that they finally pull apart and leave the shower. It’s a miracle they make it back to the bed, what with both of them competing to see who can dry the other one faster, while also constantly pausing any attempts to dry off and re-dress with the need to kiss.

By the time they’re back in Keith’s bed, Shiro’s heart isn’t racing but his mind is. Keith’s got the sheet pulled up over them both, his left arm and leg throw over Shiro and his breath coming out in hot little puffs against Shiro’s shoulder. He’s surrounded by warmth, and the solid weight of Keith’s body. 

Shiro wants so much. He wants to tell Keith he loves him again. Wants to kiss him again. Wants to touch Keith again and spend every waking moment figuring out how Keith likes to be touched. He wants to laugh with him, and joke with him, and continue to save the universe with him knowing that no matter what comes their way, Kerith will always have his back.

As perfect as it is now, Shiro knows it won’t always be. They have so much more they probably need to talk about, and the odds of the universe trying to keep them apart feel greater than Shiro wants to admit.

"Shiro, it’s okay," Keith says, as if reading his racing thoughts. His fingers trace a path up and down Shiro’s side as if he’s mapping Shiro’s body. "Just breathe."

Shiro closes his eyes and does just that, breathing deeply. Keith's scent envelops him and for the first time since he got a second chance at life, his brain quiets. 

There is so much Shiro wants and for once in his life, Shiro isn't afraid.

As he drifts off to sleep, the last thing he’s aware of are Keith’s lips pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Shiro is safe.

Shiro is loved.

Shiro can breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813)


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